


when the sky cried (i cried along with you)

by Silverfox579



Series: In the Shadows of a Footstep [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Family, Fluff, Platonic Cuddling, Platonic Relationships, Rain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:48:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27138919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silverfox579/pseuds/Silverfox579
Summary: Tom was never one to care for rainy days. But Sunday- for him, this was the most important day of all.Harry never liked rainy days. But when Mors was there, everything was better.
Series: In the Shadows of a Footstep [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1979984
Comments: 5
Kudos: 39





	when the sky cried (i cried along with you)

It was raining, again.

Tom watched apathetically as clear liquid dripped down from the gloomy grey skies. There was never a clear day in London. Too much smog, too much pollution, too much wariness. A bright blue sky would have been out of place.

And people were, as he very well knew, all about having things in their 'rightful' place.

Tom was never one to care for rainy days. He was never like the other children, who seemed to delight in the most brainless activities possible, whether that was splashing aimlessly in sopping wet puddles or shooting spitballs at each other behind Mrs. Cole's back.

He shivered as he waited at the entrance of the St. John's public library. Why libraries always seemed to have some inane name of a dead saint attached to it, he hardly knew or cared. It was Sunday. The librarian wouldn't be here for another thirty minutes, at least.

But at least for this, Tom could wait patiently. Of course, like any sensible person, he feared getting sick. It was a pathetic way to die, trapped in a bed as the life drained out from you, one droplet at a time. Sarah Jenkins had died that way, just last month. They'd had to burn her body to keep the illness from spreading.

As much as he abhorred the idea of such an abrupt and undignified end to his existence, Tom was not without purpose. He was never without purpose in anything he did- it was one of the many things that made him better than the other children. 

Today was Sunday. The librarian would stop by on her way to unlock the door for Tom - it was far away enough from Wool's that he didn't have to worry about Mrs. Cole spreading rumors about him - and then head to the church for service.

It was also one of the few places, at one of the few times, in which he would have a large concealed space to himself. Ever since he'd set the cardinal on fire that one time, Tom had been banned from Sunday service. Not that he had any problem with that.

He grimaced as the sound of pouring rain increased. He was losing precious time- time that he would have to wait a whole _week_ to reclaim. _Unacceptable_.

He glanced around. The streets were empty, water slipping down the tar-colored pavement. There was no one around, no one except for him.

Knitting his brows in concentration, he lowered his hand to the knob and slowly began to turn it. He could hear the sound of the gears clicking their way open, one by one, inch by inch. And then finally- a pop. 

Tom didn't waste any time. Throwing the door open and then shutting it firmly behind him, he raced for the isolated corner in the back of the library - his corner, _their_ corner - and pulled out his book bag.

"Mors," He called. "Can you help me with this?"

Tom waited, patiently. Everything had to be done patiently, or he - they, really, but they had always seemed more masculine in his mind - wouldn't appear, or he'd get scared off. It was a bit like planting a sapling.

Slowly, slowly, a part of Tom's shadow began to separate itself from the main body. He waited with the only genuine smile he'd ever bothered to wear in this godforsaken place, and his efforts were slowly but surely rewarded.

A shadowy figure squeezed out from the wall, gaining a three-dimensional shape. It was shaped in the form of a small child, but there fuzzy darkness where skin would be. The only thing visible were two moon-shaped eyes that seemed to have no depth to them.

"Hello," Tom said, carefully keeping his gaze on the shadow.

Mors slowly, carefully blinked. By now, Tom understood that that was his one and only friend's way of returning his greetings. Mors had no mouth, but anyway, the silence seemed to suit him better.

It had taken every ounce of Tom's observation skills to well and truly realize that he had a guardian angel. It took even longer to understand that no one else did. There was only one Mors, and Mors had chosen _Tom_ , which made him more special than anyone in the world. 

But Mors- Mors hadn't wanted to meet him. Guard him, yes, protect him, sure, but his silent guardian was even flightier than Billy's pet rabbit. Mors never quivered like the frightened animal, but he always seemed to be alert, waiting for the first excuse to get away.

Tom concluded that it wasn't that Mors didn't like him, he just found existing in a solid form to be uncomfortable. He could understand that- many times, Tom had wished for his silent guardian to take him away into the shadows with him, to get him away from this world that clearly did not understand or appreciate Tom's genius like Mors did.

But Mors would only appear under a certain set of conditions. One, when Tom was completely alone, and two, when Tom needed help. Pleasure visits didn't seem to be something his friend understood.

Mors tilted his head in the universal sign of questioning. Tom quickly shoved his entire textbook his way, and lied between his teeth- "I need help with all of it."

Naively, and innocently, Mors didn't question his request. Instead, he diligently began to read the problem. Black ash curled up from his fingertip and spelled out numbers. It was cute, how Mors seemed to think that Tom really didn't understand something as simple as division just because his teachers and peers were more or less disgusted of him.

 _As if I would be hindered by something so inane_. But being underestimated kept Mors around him longer, and so Tom could let that go.

The rain poured down outside, splattering against the pavement in a methodical rhythm. Tom watched Mors work his magic, and smiled quietly.

This, he was certain, was what peace was.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_It's raining again._

Harry sneezed, shuddering as he huddled inside the ratty cotton blankets. In a storm like this, he at least wouldn't have to worry about gardening. Of course, the downside was that he had to worry about freezing to death instead.

Rain always put Harry in a melancholy sort of mood. They were the kind of days that, as he hugged his knees trying to steal his own warmth, he would sit and wonder what kind of people his parents were, to leave him in a place like this.

Number 4 never seemed quite as cold as it did on rainy days.

He wrapped the blankets tighter around his shoulders. 

_Might as well try to get some sleep._ A forlorn sigh slipped from his lips before he fruitlessly attempted to get a little warmer. 

His eyelids were just about to slip closed, he feels it.

His eyes shooting open, Harry threw his blankets off in his haste to sit up. Then, waiting with baited breath, he watched as a tall, looming shadow began to separate from his own. It separated from the wall, and the giant figure bent awkwardly to compensate for the tiny roof.

"Mors," Harry said, his eyes alight with ecstatic joy. "You came to visit me!"

His shadowy friend nodded silently, then tilted his head at the blankets. Harry blinked and looked down. "Ah...it's raining, so I was just trying to get warm. It's okay though- now that you're here, I mean."

He finished with a bright smile. Mors quivered in that way that he always did when he was happy and didn't know what to do about it. Harry could feel his smile growing, making his cheeks ache. He didn't care.

An ashy black hand carefully reached over and touched his forehead. Harry gaped. Mors never initiated first contact. That just wasn't something that happened.

But here they were. He held as possibly still as he could, holding his breath until his chest began to ache painfully. Mors drew his hand away, and Harry looked up at him with wide eyes.

The large shadow flickered away.

Disappointment and horror crashed into him like a raging tide. He let out a pitiful "No, wait-!" and reached for the empty space where Mors once stood. His hands grasped empty air, and Harry felt something cold - colder than any storm - lodge itself in his chest. He couldn't breathe.

 _What did I do?_ His eyes burned. _What did I do wrong?_

Once the first tear fell, the dam broke. Harry curled in on himself, the misery of the cold and the loneliness of his life and the grumbling of his stomach causing an endless pour of tears. He sobbed pitifully, wiping at his eyes to no avail.

Then suddenly, the shadow reappeared. Harry jerked, tears still running down his face, and Mors dropped the blanket furled in his arms in shock. 

Harry, too shocked to move, couldn't even react when Mors began to flail around him, hovering over him in a worried way. His shadowy hands hovered in the air, like he wanted to help but didn't even know what to do with himself.

"What's-" Mors voice, a voice he'd only heard one other time, creaked into the air. It was a child's voice, and it made the shadow sound even younger than Harry. Not in the pitch, but the tone. "What's wrong?"

Tears welled up in Harry's eyes again. He started crying again, and even though he knew that Mors was getting more and more panicked by the second, he couldn't stop. The relief, followed by the devastation, was just too overwhelming.

Mors awkwardly patted his head, and warmth exploded within Harry's gut. He was being comforted, for the first time, while he cried. He was being comforted, and someone was worried for him. It was such a strange, beautiful thing.

Eventually, he calmed down.

"I-I thought you'd left me," Harry said, fidgeting under that pale white gaze. Mors's eyes were two beautiful moons, large and luminous. "I thought...maybe you thought I was being annoying, or irritating."

Mors scooped up the blankets in silent reply and wrapped them around him. Harry giggled weakly when he found himself being wrapped up burrito-style, surrounded by fluffy warmth. It was a soft blanket- the softest he'd ever touched.

The warmth crackled inside him. He was cared for. He was loved. And he didn't care what Dudley said- Mors was a friend who would _never_ leave him.

"I'm alright now," He told his friend, warm and comfortable and more than content. "Thank you. I was really happy to see you."

But instead of leaving like Harry expected, Mors bent his head and sat on his cot. Harry yelped in surprise when he was suddenly scooped up and placed in the shadow's lap. Mors tucked him there meticulously, not a single corner of blanket out of place.

Harry looked up at him in shock. "You're- you're staying?"

Mors inclined his head.

All over again, a wave of warmth washed over him. Mors didn't like touching things, or people, or anything, but here he was, sitting and holding Harry because he was lonely and he had cried. 

Harry ducked his head to hide his teary eyes. He didn't want his friend to take it the wrong way. 

How could he begin to explain a feeling of joy so powerful it spilled out his eyes?


End file.
